Fog
by Midnight Caller
Summary: It was the worst kind of betrayal. (J/S pairing)


"Fog"

By Midnight Caller

Rating: R

Spoilers:  None

Summary:  It was the worst kind of betrayal.  

A/N:   M, I couldn't have done this without you.  You and your constant words of encouragement and support are the reason this is even done.  Thank you.

*****

It was the worst kind of betrayal.  

Worse than what they had done all those months ago, when they had become too wrapped up in each other to consider the lives that fell apart because of their actions.  

Worse than betraying his vows.

Worse than betraying another man's wife.

This hurt worse than any of those, slashing honor, and courage, and righteousness, until they were nothing more than mere shreds of human decency, flapping in a stale, choking wind of disloyalty.

"I guess this is the part where I say that you can use me as a reference."

Tearing her eyes from the fog, she turned her head, looking at him as the words rolled out of his mouth.  

He swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing, but nothing he did could hide him from the look in her eyes.  It turned his betrayal into a lump in his throat that no amount of swallowing could push down.  

"Get out, Jack."  She spoke, quietly.  He was still trying to swallow that lump.  His jaw tensed, but he didn't move.  "Get. Out."    

It's what her brain had screamed as she turned and quickly strode out of his office, his eyes on her back, and the lingering voice of that … that woman, as she yapped on about codes of conduct and team discipline.  

Just… just get out.  Get to the elevators.  Get to your car.  Get home.  Just get as far away from here as possible.  

That was the plan, and she had followed it as far as finding her car.  But when she somehow found herself on the freeway, and the cement had turned into trees and hills and green highway signs, she pulled off at the nearest exit.  

Scenic overlook.  That's what the sign said.  It was March, it was raining, and she should have known better.  But, she guessed there was something to see, somewhere behind the mask of fog that had rolled in from the coast and settled in to what she had to assume was a valley between two expanses of mountain ranges.  

She almost laughed at the way her mind could picture it despite her blocked view.  Guidebooks and postcards could be to blame, and even if this particular overlook was far beyond what she expected, she at least knew it would be predictably scenic; that's what the sign said.  There would be a sea of blue peppered with clouds of all shapes, poking out of the sky like bubbles of fluffy white moisture, and they would cast their irregular shadows onto the valley below, which would be green and lush and brimming with flowers and trees and the occasional home of inhabitants who could stand living so far from everything that was familiar to her these days.  

A scenic overlook was there – of that she was certain.  It was the only thing she was sure of at this moment.  Every constant in her life had just be uprooted in the most violent way possible, and it had been done with such clarity and directness that there was no possible way to misinterpret, no way to make it something it wasn't, no way to turn the hurt and pain into something constructive or useful or one of those moments where character was built, skins were thickened, or lessons were learned.  The lack of latitude hurt most of all.  It was what it was: a betrayal, plain and simple.  

So here she sat, convinced that past the thick, opaque mist swirling around her, lay a beautiful, sprawling panorama.  

She hadn't been able to see his eyes almost the entire time.  

He shifted them around, aiming them at the floor, at Van Doran, at the door, at Samantha's shoulder.  The only time he'd had enough courage to meet her disbelieving stare was when she turned before passing through the doorway.  He could have ended it right there, if he had wanted to.  If he had possessed the bravery to call her back in there, stand behind her, and right what had been wronged, despite the consequences.  But he didn't.  He didn't follow her out, didn't call her phone, didn't ask where she was going or when she'd be back.  All he did was watch her leave.       

The fog continued to roll in and surround her car, obscuring her view completely except for the faint outline of a sign that read: "Great Photo Opportunity!"  The rain came next, at first falling in light, random droplets, and then becoming increasingly heavier and more frequent until they pounded relentlessly against the car.  

With the cold outside and Samantha's warmth inside, the windshield began to fog, and she watched as a light mist overtook the glass, encasing her in a miasma of muted light.  It was beautiful, in a way, and she just stared ahead, her eyes simply looking but not really searching for anything in particular.  

It had been very much like this the night he drove her home several months earlier.  

The rain had assaulted the city for almost two weeks straight, as if the clouds had purposely planted themselves firmly over the metropolis and unleashed a torrent of pent-up water and moisture onto the cement and asphalt.  There was no way to stay dry, except to never leave one's house, and of course that was an impossibility for her, or anyone who wanted to go about their daily life.  So it should have been no surprise when she returned to the office ten minutes after leaving, with wet clothes clinging to her body and irritation and exhaustion exuding from her posture and facial expression.  

Danny laughed lightly as he passed her on his way to the elevator with his extra large umbrella.  He was going to offer to share it with her, but opted not to when he saw the look in her eyes.  

Brushing wet strands of blonde from her face, she marched right into his office, stopping to hover just inside the doorway.  

He could usually sense when someone was near him, almost always when it was her, but maybe it was the moisture coating her body and masking her usual scent that threw him, for he didn't even glance up from his work.  

"I told you, I'm leaving right after I–" 

He stopped himself, his eyes finally wandering upward until he saw the sight in his office: her wet hair and drenched clothes, and the look of death coming from her eyes.  He tried to avoid gazing at the way the water had slicked down her dress shirt, causing it to hug her body, and he definitely tried not to look at the way the top fastened button precariously held onto its weak union with its corresponding hole, since it was already hovering right above dangerous territory.  

The look on her face brought him back from his trance, and he tried to give her his best sympathy eyes.  He didn't want to laugh, but he couldn't hide the amusement, and bit his lip to hold back the smirk.  

She stared him down, daring him to smile, wanting him to say something snide so she could justify releasing her frustrations onto him.  

"Right after ... what you're doing now?" She cocked her head and pursed her lips.  He was too shocked to speak, and bit his lip again.  "That's good, because I need a ride home.  I'm soaked."  

The smile broke through.  "I can see that."    

"It's not funny, Jack..." she quipped, threatening him with her eyes.  

He was about to tell her just how funny it actually was, when she suddenly shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.  

His smile instantly faded and he rose from the desk.  She had missed her train to finish up paperwork for him, and obviously had not lucked out in the taxi department.  His mouth twisted as he buried the small amount of guilt, and then he took off his glasses.  Yanking the coat off the back of his chair, he walked over to her.    

"Okay," he said quietly, gesturing toward the door.  

Her shoes squeaked on the mat and the material of the seat groaned every time she shifted, but the car was warm, and he was warm, and the seats were closer than she thought.

She had stopped shivering five minutes ago, even under his coat that he had insisted she wear, and they had arrived at this spot near her apartment five minutes before that.  Three minutes ago the windshield began to fog.  In total, ten minutes had passed beyond what was appropriate, but here she sat in his warm car, in damp clothes that stuck to her skin, inches away from his dryness and warmth.  As she brushed another lock of wet hair from her cheek, the rain continued to pelt the car.    

He had touched her for the first time almost exactly one week earlier, in his office, and she felt the same energy that overtook them that night suddenly overpower the air inside his car.  The engine idled and the windshield fogged, and his hand crept slowly along the collar of her dampened shirt.  The rain pattered and the wind blew and his eyes found hers and stayed there.  The heat breathed from the vents, the streetlights were misty orbs, and the seats were closer than she thought.    

It seemed to happen in a blur, in a streak of rain and light and heat, the softness and warmth of his mouth covering her own, searching... needing... wanting.  The seats were closer than she thought and she couldn't have been more grateful, leaning into his body, into hands that were reaching and grasping, pulling at her, bringing her closer... closer...

She sighed heavily and stared out into the fog and the rain, remembering that night.  Her apartment.  Him.  She had welcomed him into her bed, wanting him... trusting him... and now he had turned on her.  The burn started to push at the back of her eyes but she wouldn't let it through, swallowing until the sensation passed.  

Her fingers hovered above the keys, ready to turn over the engine, but then she paused, staring out again.  She couldn't see two feet in front of the car, much less far enough to drive back to the city on the highway, so she sat back against the seat, sighing again.  

She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when she heard it, but it wasn't rain pounding the car and it was too pronounced to be a distant thunderclap.  Slowly, her eyes opened, and then she let out a tiny scream when the outline of a dark figure on the other side shot a sudden sting of adrenaline into her heart.  

The initial shock slowly subsided as she realized who it was, but she was still panting to catch her breath as she reached for the window button.  The sudden, startling feel and sound of rain immediately flew against her face as she lowered the glass.    

"Jack," she stated, matter-of-factly, though part of her wondered how on earth he found her.  Her voice was almost lost in the wind and pouring rain.  She didn't make a move to let him in, though, and at the moment, he was only asking with his eyes.  Right now, that wasn't enough for her.  

His hair was plastered to his head, the longer strands in front coming down almost to his eyebrows. The rain pelted at him like tiny arrows of moisture, some of the droplets running down the bridge of his nose before dripping off the tip onto the ground.  Anything not under his trench coat was completely soaked.  He blinked once in a while when rain fell into his eyes, but for the most part he just looked at her, the dark rings of his irises trying to say too much, too late.  And yet, she couldn't look away, even as the skies assaulted him, and even with his apparent willingness to stand there and accept it as punishment for what he had done.  

Without a word, she looked away, but visibly moved her finger to the unlock button.  With the window still open he could hear the click from the other side of the car, but if he was pleased about it, she couldn't tell by looking at him.  He waited until she closed her window before moving around to the passenger side.  

She sensed his familiar energy the moment he entered the car, but pushed it aside and kept her eyes on the surrounding whiteness.  She couldn't let it be that easy for him.  

After he had shut the door, the car returned to its muted soundtrack of water-on-metal-and-glass, and for the next few minutes neither one of them said a word.

He shifted a few times, his wet coat groaning against the seat.  The rain let up for only a moment, allowing the car to briefly echo with the soft patter of water dripping from the edges of his coat onto the floor mat below.    

Eventually, the rain picked up again, and he let out a long sigh.  

"I remember our first case together."  

His voice was rough; he was probably getting a cold.  And she knew he wouldn't risk engaging her in conversation at this point by asking questions, so she let him continue.    

"The Wahlberg boy."  He glanced at her quickly, not expecting a reaction.  She just turned her head away even more, hiding her face almost completely from him.  He fingered a frayed string hanging from his coat.  

He continued, "I remember being so convinced his father had taken him, fed up with no joint custody.  There was no evidence, but I ... I ... believed so much that it was him... I wanted to find that little boy alive so badly, that I was blind to any reason or other suspects."

When she turned her head just slightly, he shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.  Some of the strands stayed in the upright position, spiking out from the top of his head.  For a moment it made him look like a little boy, but she pushed that aside, too, along with the way he smelled, and the way their combined body heat was beginning to fog the windshield.  But she turned away.  She wouldn't allow this to be that easy for him.  

"You were more fair on that case than any rookie I've ever seen," he continued.  Sam resisted looking at him.  "You saw the bigger picture better than me because you were willing to accept the outcome of failure... that we wouldn't find the kid, ever.  And I wasn't."

"But you were right... it was the husband."  He barely heard her mumble the words.  

He tilted his head, trying to get her attention.  "But instead of making my passion into something useful, I let my hope turn into vengeance."  

He shifted again.  "Sam," he called.  She still resisted.  "You're one of the best FBI agents I know.  What happened in there today... I... shouldn't have let it go that way, but ... it did."  

She finally looked over, but this time, he was the one glancing out into the fog.  He took a deep breath.  "After you left, I told Van Doran that she couldn't suspend you."  

Her eyes grew wide, but she said nothing.    

"A lot has happened since that first case, Sam.  I've learned a lot ... sometimes more than I wanted to admit to myself.  There are ... politics involved with this job.  And that sometimes means I can't question a superior agent's decision in front of a subordinate."  

She flinched at his usage of words, but there was no other way to say it.

"I am the shift supervisor.  Your actions are my responsibility, no matter how you want to argue it.  If you screw up on a case, it's essentially my fault."  

Their eyes met this time, hers angry and his gentle.      

"But I don't think you screwed up, Sam."  

The anger in her eyes was replaced by confusion.  "I broke protocol.  I didn't inform you of what I was doing and –"

"Your sense of hope caught a murderer.  Sometimes there just isn't time for protocol."  

She sat there, quite taken aback by his words... the way his eyes were unrelenting in their hold on her.   When she finally spoke, she looked away, her voice so soft she could barely heard it above the rain.

"Then how am I any better than you?"

"Sam," he stopped her, waiting until he met her eyes again.  "This is so different... you knew you were right.  You had the evidence.  There was no time to follow handbook procedure and you just did what you did to save a life..."

She shivered as his fingers grazed her neck, and she slowly turned her head toward him, meeting those hypnotic eyes.  

"I should have stood up for you, Sam."  He was practically whispering, his hand now on her skin, gentle and warm.  "I shouldn't have ever let you think I didn't believe in you."        

She was falling for it.  For him.  Like so many times before, she just accepted whatever happened, whatever he had said or did to hurt her, and pushed it aside, making room in her heart for him.  His skin on hers was making it difficult to resist, but she suddenly realized she was tired of pretending everything was okay.  

"You're right.  You shouldn't have."  After another moment, she added, "I'm leaving." 

Confusion passed over his face, and his hand stilled on her neck.  Before he could reply, she continued.

"The FBI.  I'm leaving.  Quitting."

His hand moved back to his lap, and his jaw dropped open before tightening as he considered her words.  

"I have a right to ask why."

She almost chortled at him.  A right?  Shaking her head, almost to herself, she turned.  "I don't even think I should have to explain.  You were in the army; you know how it goes.  Every day we all depend on one another for ... everything.  My life is in your hands, and in Martin's, and Danny's... everyone knows they can count on the other person.  I have to be able to come to work knowing that you guys have my back, that I don't have to worry that—"

"I told you I couldn't stand up to Van Doran while you were there, Sam, there is a protocol to dealing with—"

"Sometimes there isn't time for protocol."

Whatever his next words were going to be were silenced by hers, and he had to look away, stunned.  

The rain seemed to be coming down even harder now, thundering against the car with unrelenting force.  He seemed to be angry, but she was feeling more than anger.  It was fear.  She wanted to leave.  Leave the FBI.  Leave him.  And she was scared.  But what right did he have to keep her?  She gripped the door handle, trying to hide the shaking.  Little did she know he was doing the same thing.  

"Look, Jack.  I just... maybe it would be best if I moved on.  I guess it's ultimately up to you –whether I quit, or you let me go."    

He finally turned, trying to figure out if she was talking about him or the FBI.  They looked at one another for what seemed like several full minutes, each trying to see beyond the pain.  She wanted him to believe that she didn't really want to go, but when all he did was continue to stare, she eventually closed her eyes and looked away.  

He straightened in his seat.  "Well... I guess this is the part where I say that you can use me as a reference."  

Tearing her eyes from the fog, she turned her head, looking at him as the words rolled out of his mouth.  

He swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing, but nothing he did could hide him from the look in her eyes.  It turned his betrayal into a lump in his throat that no amount of swallowing could push down.  

"Get out, Jack."  She spoke, quietly.  He was still trying to swallow that lump.  His jaw tensed, but he didn't move.  "Get. Out."    

Slowly, he nodded, moving his fingers over the door to reach the handle.  When he had gripped it in his hand, he pulled, but the lock suddenly clicked.  Sighing, he just stared at his hand.

"You have to unlock the door if you want me to leave."

He stared at his hand for another moment before glancing over to her.  She was staring straight out the window, her finger still on the lock.  

"Sam—"

"Say you don't want me to go."

Her voice was so quiet, he instinctively leaned forward to hear her.  "What?"

When her eyes met his, he saw tears starting to form, and felt his heart break.  

"Say it..." she barely managed to get out.    

This time, she didn't shiver when she felt his hand on her skin.  He was running a finger through her hair, brushing against the back of her neck as his hand traveled downward until it reached the end of her blonde strands.  Then he would start again, running through the soothing cycle again and again, watching as her eyes reflexively closed every time he touched her flesh.  

"Sam..." he whispered.  

She was so very close to him now, so close she could barely hear the rain over the thumping coming from her chest and the blood rushing through her ears.  Slowly, she opened her eyes and saw him, his proximity both startling and exciting her.  

"I don't want you to go."  

His hand was on her cheek now, warm and comforting, his thumb tenderly stroking the corner of her lips.  She brought her own hand up to cover his, and turned her head to kiss his palm.  When she felt his breath against hers, she wondered how they had gotten so close.  

There was only enough time for a few more seconds to pass before their lips met with a tenderness that made her want to cry.  He softly suckled her bottom lip, lightly moaning against her mouth as his hand made its way to the back of her head, pulling her against him.  

She was more needful, flicking her tongue against his lips until his own tongue finally met hers amidst the wet heat of their mouths.  Somehow they still managed to be gentle with each other, even as the insistent nature of their kiss began to take its effect on their bodies, spreading that familiar heat through their limbs.  

Her body gave in as she fell forward into his arms, twisting her torso around to press it against his, raising up on her knees slightly as she did so.  She felt his hands working at the buttons of her coat, and then sighed as their warmth found her body, gripping the silk of her blouse.  She caught her breath and moaned against his lips when one of his hands slid to her bare thigh and pushed up her skirt.

Sliding her hands to his shoulders for support, she shifted her legs around until she was straddling his thighs, and then pushed aside his soaked raincoat.  She pulled back from his mouth slightly to catch her breath before leaning her forehead against his.  Warm hands continued to explore her back, moving up to the nape of her neck, fingers running through her hair.  

When she shifted her hips, she heard him groan, and felt his heat between her legs, pressing against her own.  She leaned in to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he extended the same treatment to her torso.  For a moment they just stayed still, her fingers running through his damp hair, warming his scalp, while his hands slowly rubbed up and down her back, holding her to him, silently reassuring what he had already conveyed with words.  

Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her, and then brought their mouths together once more.  The kiss slowly deepened, lips and tongues pushing and pulling, moving with a familiarity that sustained a sense of intimacy even as the contact became more intense.  She tilted her head to get a better angle, and her hands cupped his cheeks, holding him in place to explore his mouth with her own.     

One of her hands left his cheek and traveled downward, loosening his tie and lightly skimming over his shirt before reaching the buckle on his belt.  As she worked the metal, her fingers grazed the now prominent bulge residing in his pants, and he pulled away from her mouth, gasping for air as he sucked in his breath. Somewhere inside, she smiled.  The power she held over him in times like these never ceased to amaze her; how willing he was to give himself to her the way she was to him.  

She continued to work at his belt, every few seconds brushing against him just to hear a gasp or a moan.  The need to do so nagged at her like a persistent, obsessive thought; she had to see what she did to him, craving the physical reassurance that he wanted her to stay for more than just professional reasons, despite what that did to the agent side of her, the side that didn't want to have to depend on anyone, especially the way she clung to him at this very moment. 

As she carefully eased down the zipper of his pants, his hand slipped beneath her skirt, between her legs.  A small whimper escaped her mouth when he touched her, and it almost scared her how much she needed him.  She shifted in his lap, helping him gently pull away the final barrier between them.  Then she found his eyes, seeking the affirmation she required each and every time she was with him, simply because she couldn't bear the thought of being with him, of making him break so many rules, of risking so much, if he didn't feel the same way she did.  She didn't know what she would ever do the day his eyes failed to show her what she needed to see, but for now, they did, and that's all that mattered.      

Slowly they moved against each other, quiet gasps and moans filling the car as they continued at their unhurried pace, her open coat falling around them like a warm, protective blanket.  She gripped his hair, and he kissed her lips, and his warm hands never left her body.  They moved together as if nothing else even existed, as if they had all the time in the world to make love, even in a car assaulted by water and wind and filled with hurtful words that sought to escape and disappear outside into the rain and fog.    

A blush started to rise to the surface of her skin, and he watched through his own cloud of arousal as the flush traveled across her neck, past the throbbing hollow of her throat, and then as it continued upward, past her chin and jaw line, before finally spreading wide over her cheeks.  

When the color went beyond her temples and passed over her eyes, it seemingly closed them as it did so, and her mouth dropped open.   Her head fell back into one of his hands, exposing her neck, and his lips sought and found the pulsating flesh of her throat.  

She let out a quiet moan, and he held her tightly as she jerked and spasmed around him, her hands clutching his hair and shirt and anything else she could find.  Before she could relinquish her hold, he suddenly gripped her hip with one hand and grasped the back of her shirt with the other, pulling desperately at it, groaning against her neck as he found his own release.  

For the moments after, all they had the strength to do was remain where they were, eyes sated, lids heavy, breaths ragged, hands clutching at each other, afraid to let go for too many reasons to count.  And so they stayed like that for a long time, unable -- or unwilling -- to move.  

The torrential rain having ebbed to a muted drizzle, Jack leaned again the back of the seat, and ran a hand through his now dry hair.  He looked over to Samantha.  One of her delicate yet sturdy hands was poised in her lap, the other perched on to the top of the steering wheel.  Her eyes were focused on the fog, now slipping away as quickly as it had enshrined the car in whiteness. 

Jack followed her gaze, out past the 'Great Photo Opportunity!' sign, beyond the rather delicate wooden divider preventing cars from toppling into oblivion, and out to the scene before them.  The fog peeled back like a page from an old book, and Samantha sat forward, inexplicably eager to see how the reality of the view compared to the one in her mind.  

A few stubborn clouds clung to the top of one of the taller mountains, which in turn was covered peak to valley in a seemingly endless carpet of pine trees and greenery.  There were a few patches of wildflowers on the valley floor, but she didn't expect much at this time of year.  There were no scattered homes, just a continuous expanse of foliage as far as she could see, until the still-receding fog cut off her visibility.  It was ... beautiful, really.  Almost exactly as she had imagined, and yet, somehow, it still managed to exceed her expectations.  

"Sam?"  

His voice broke her reverie, and she turned to look at him, her eyes slightly misty.  He furrowed his brow in concern, and put a hand on her shoulder.  

"You okay?"  

She smiled and nodded, wiping the moisture from her eyes with the tips of her fingers.  When he didn't look convinced, she reached out and cupped his cheek, sliding her thumb over his lips.  He shut his eyes for a moment before taking her hand in his.  

"I should go," he whispered, releasing her hand back to her.  

She nodded, and watched as he slid his fingers around the door handle.  

When it wouldn't open, he looked over to her, one eyebrow raised.  Biting her lip, she tried to keep a straight face, but a smile broke out, and they both looked down to her finger on the lock.  She hesitated for a moment before unlocking the door, knowing it would mean he was really going to leave.  

She didn't even want to look when she heard his door finally open.  

The car shifted as he got out, and then he leaned down, poking his head back in.  

"I'll uh..." he started, getting her attention.  "I'll see you on Monday, then, Agent Spade."  

When he was satisfied with the smile he got from her, he stood up, shut the door, and walked back to his car.  

(fin.)


End file.
